The Dubya Code*

Dad had always told Barb and Jenna to knock before going into Ashcroft’s office. Now they wish they had listened, because when they strolled in to ask “Uncle John” about their latest legal troubles they were treated to a horrifying sight, which I will reveal in the next paragraph.

*This post is optimized for readers of The Da Vinci Code. Others may get a few yucks anyway.

They had seen some wild things in college, but a middle-aged attorney general being flagellated by an albino monk in a cassock was a new one. Now they understood what Uncle Dick meant about Ashcroft “being in the mold of J. Edgar Hoover”. They tried to slip away quietly, but it was too late.

He didn’t have to ask twice. “Yikes,” Barb exclaimed as she slammed the door “I always knew there was something off about that guy! What’s this about the paternal water?”

“Must be dad’s liquor cabinet,” Jenna replied. Dubya had been on the wagon for years, but he still liked to have the cabinet in his office for old times’ sake. Sometimes Uncle Dick left stuff there for him to read. This time, there was something inside too shocking to reveal in this paragraph.

“Booby woman!” the sisters exclaimed. Mom had always called the curvaceous wooden idol a fertility goddess, but they preferred dad’s terminology.

“What are we supposed to do with this thing?” Barb asked.

“Look,” Jenna replied, “there’s a combination lock on the back.”

Barb grabbed the idol. “I’m sure dad would use something easy to remember.” She dialed “1, 2, 3” and popped the head off in one deft motion. Inside was a photograph of their great-grandfather, Prescott Bush, shaking hands with Hitler.

“Wow,” Jenna proclaimed, “our family is way evil!”

At that moment, a shadowy figure appeared in the doorway. “What are you looking at, girls?” their mother asked.

Jenna threw the picture on the ground in front of Laura. “Stay away from me. This family is allied with dark, satanic forces!”

“Girls, girls, there’s so much I need to explain. You need to listen to me. You are the fruit of my womb. My rosy, fertile womb. Did you ever think about why our church is shaped like a vagina? Did you ever notice that that thing over the archway looks like a clit-“

“Whoa Nelly!” Barb exclaimed. “Let’s make a deal, I’ll stay in the family if you promise not to talk about your womb anymore.”

“OK, maybe you’ll be more comfortable talking to Donna Rumsfeld.”

“Don’t you mean Don-“

“Alright, party’s over.” Uncle Don appeared carrying a revolver, and it didn’t coordinate at all well with his fishnet stockings and hot pink pumps. “I’m afraid this has become a matter of national security. This country needs to stand up with the big boys, and so does its Secretary of Defense. But before I kill you, though, I’m going to give you a lecture so you have a chance to escape. Would you like to hear about political economy or Christian symbology?”

Barb raised her hand. “Is Christian symbology the same as Christian gynecology?”

“Yeah, basically.”

“Let’s do the economics then.”

“Very well. For decades you’ve been hearing that we can balance the budget by lowering taxes. We call it ‘supply side economics’, but it’s basically nonsense. The thing is, people need something to believe.”

“Wow!” Jenna exclaimed. “So where does the war fit into all of this?”

“Well, my dear-“

“NOOOOOOOO!!!!” a scream pierced through the air as the albino monk jumped from the ceiling. The women watched in horror as he thrashed Donna/Donald with a fire poker until he/she stopped moving.

“It’s alright, girls.” Their father stepped from the shadows. “I was trying to figure out how to get rid of him, but it all worked out fine. Now your mom and I need a little heroes’ games.”